Quality of mercy
by Bookjunk
Summary: AU. The Winchesters and the Angels are running a ranch together in peace. Then something happens and all hell breaks loose. Image made by the great Gatergirl79.
1. Prologue: Homestead

**Prologue: Homestead**

It was much more comfortable inside, but the children were still up. Thus, it was also a lot noisier. Dean shivered as he stepped onto the porch and let the screen door fall closed behind him. His stomach was pleasantly full. He distributed thick glasses, leaving one aside.

Unscrewing the top, Dean immediately caught the somewhat heavy smell of the liquor. He had thought about testing his own product, but had decided to go with a bottle of store bought whiskey. There would be plenty of time to sample his home distilled brew when Sam and Gabriel got back from their supply run.

'What're you waiting for?' Bobby grumbled. Smiling, Dean poured, filling their glasses to the brim. The liquid swirled around, all warm-looking.

'Michael's still abstaining?' Bobby asked. He shook his head as if he couldn't quite believe that someone would be that stupid. Raphael took his time answering. They all sipped their drinks, sighing with pleasure as the whiskey slowly burned its way down to join their food.

'Knowing him, he's busy praying for our souls,' Bobby said, thereby answering his own question. This happened frequently if you talked to Raphael. He had the tendency to spend so much time thinking about the simplest of inquiries that often it was easier to move the conversation along without his help.

It never ceased to amaze Dean how different the three brothers were.

Michael; a Bible thumper if ever Dean saw one.

The stoical Raphael.

Gabriel, the youngest, who was the polar opposite of the other two. Gabriel did everything Michael abhorred: drinking, gambling, and whoring. And while you couldn't get Raphael to talk, you couldn't get Gabriel to shut up.

Dusk was already settling in. Winter was now really beginning in earnest. In the distance, Dean could distinguish the blurry lights of town. That was where the fourth brother resided. Lucifer: the bad one. Dean's musings on the differences between the brothers were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Castiel at his side.

Masking his start with a tremble from the cold, Dean handed the bottle to him. The young man accepted it with a nod. Dean smelled straw, horses and dust as Castiel passed him. It was a mystery to Dean why Castiel didn't dine with them. After spending his day amongst animals, Dean was usually relieved to be able to sit down and be able to talk to someone other than Gabriel. Castiel, on the other hand, seemed to like to eat his evening meals in the stables.

Dean got to talking with Bobby about how soon the first snow was going to fall. The sky was certainly right for it. Blue patches that were losing ground to grey and brown clouds. It grew darker and cooler as the two of them got onto the subject of whether Michael needed to fortify the fences.

They asked Raphael about the crops, which elicited a 'fine.' After discussing every detail of the past season with Bobby; diseases, breeding, cattle prices and such, Dean entreated Raphael to play them a song. Without a word, Raphael entered the house.

Taking advantage of the less crowded porch, Dean got up and refilled their glasses. Again, he reacted startled when Castiel reached out from the near darkness to have his glass filled too. Bobby saw it and chuckled.

'He claims he's Gabriel's, but are we sure he ain't yours?' he asked a returned Raphael, commenting on their shared fondness of silence.

'Don't make fun of the boy,' Jessica scolded him. She held the screen door open while Anna carried the quilts. They each received one and Dean for one was thankful. The nights were getting too cold to sit outside like this, even with the aid of some whiskey.

'You better get upstairs. Your mother wants you to help put your brothers to bed,' Jessica nudged. Briefly, Anna stared at the whiskey, before darting inside. Jessica wished them goodnight and followed her.

Raphael nipped from his newly filled glass and adjusted the guitar in his lap. There was a whole ritual to it. He plucked at the strings and fiddled with the screws. This involved a lot of listening and tiny, almost imperceptible changes being made. When he was satisfied, he strummed softly and hummed a few notes before he started singing.

It was a new song every time. Raphael didn't take requests. Sometimes when Dean saw him in the field, his head above the fresh green corn or kneeling between the turnips, it looked as if he was composing songs. Maybe he wanted to try them out on the vegetables before performing them before a human audience. Or maybe he thought it would make the crops grow faster and bigger.

The refrain stuck with Dean this time.

_Don't call it a prairie if you fence it in_

_You could call it a pasture but the topsoil's thin_

_It just might rain but then again_

_It will not make a different_

Everyone was silent for a few seconds when Raphael had finished.

'It was...'

Dean struggled to find the right word. It wasn't an unhappy song, not really. It also wasn't flat out sombre. Mournful? There was a bit of longing too. In his shady corner of the porch, Castiel mumbled something. Raphael and Dean turned to look at him.

'Wistful,' Bobby, who sat closest to Castiel, repeated.

'Yeah, wistful,' Dean agreed. Desire tinged with sadness. A collective shudder ran through the company and they simultaneously got to their feet. Dean let the others go in first. As he collected the glasses, it started to snow. Suddenly, he felt frozen to his core. It was that kind of night. Nothing was wrong. It just wasn't right either.

(***)

_Author's note: Story and chapter titles correspond to song titles from Michelle Shocked. Lyrics from the song Raphael sings are from her song Homestead._


	2. A child called Grace

**Chapter One: A child called Grace**

In the morning, Dean felt out of sorts. Despite not being hungry, he ate a piece of dry toast. The smell of bacon made him feel slightly nauseous.

There were some patches of powdery snow left outside, but most of the snow was gone. In the stables, Castiel was already preparing to go check on the herd. Dean decided to accompany him on his errant. Undoubtedly, Castiel would rather go at it alone now that Sam was gone, but Dean could use a distraction. So, tough shit.

Whatever his feelings about Dean's intrusion, the young man waited patiently while Dean took his time saddling a horse. They rode out together. The sky's colour was faintly pink mingled with pumpkin orange. Early morning sky. Dean liked it far better than the threatening clouds they usually got lately.

With the sun out in full force, it wasn't exactly cold. There was no wind either. Nonetheless, Dean felt chills run down his spine. He pressed his spurs deeper into the horse's flanks to propel it forward. Castiel quietly accepted the challenge and they raced until they were both panting with exertion. The horses' flanks were wet and moving rapidly.

Castiel won, _of course_, because the guy was like some fucking horse magician. He was all whispers and encouragements with the animals, while Dean was lucky if Castiel saw fit to say two words to him on any given day.

The road they were on now – the one that led into the nearest town if you kept following it – was covered in brown leaves. Dean saw no evidence that the leaves had been disturbed, though they must have, as recently as yesterday. Sam and Gabriel weren't due back until that evening, but that didn't stop Dean from peeking further up the road every now and again, looking to see if his brother might appear.

In an unguarded moment, Dean caught Castiel doing the same. They would most likely hear the others long before they saw them, however. Sam's daughter had been so excited about visiting the town that she would probably alert everyone to their approach with her incessant chatter.

Finally, they reached the horses. Dean was relieved, because his back had started to hurt. He slipped off his horse and tied the reins to a nearby tree. The herd was spread out all over the prairie, except for a few horses that were clumped around a single tree. They all looked healthy as far as Dean could see. Their thick winter coats seemed to have protected them just fine from the steep drop in temperature at night.

He wandered a little way into the woods to take a leak. When he turned around, he saw Castiel kneeling in the midst of the group of horses, softly shooing them away from something. The horses obeyed and trotted away.

Castiel gestured for Dean to stay back, but he couldn't. He took one step and then another. There was snow in Grace's hair. The flakes whirled down when Castiel bend over Sam to feel her neck for a heartbeat.

They were sitting with their backs to the trunk of a red oak. The way they were sitting looked unnatural, as if they had been dragged there. After.

'Are they...?' Dean asked, unable to form more words. Castiel looked up and nodded. Quickly, Dean blundered back into the woods and fell to his knees. His body convulsed. In the back of his throat, he swore he could sense the acrid taste of vomit. His hands clawed at the unyielding earth, but nothing came. Still dry heaving, he struggled to his feet and returned.

The sight was the same. He couldn't decide whether the positioning of the bodies was cruel or kind. Castiel was searching the ground. If Dean had possessed the power so speak just then, he would have cursed up a storm. Gabriel was nowhere to be seen. Sam's horse was gone. The dark look on Castiel's face indicated that the snow had erased any traces there might have been.

At least their faces were smooth, Dean thought. They didn't seem to have suffered. Castiel conducted the methodical search in a widening circle. Meanwhile, Dean was attempting to envision the walk back to the ranch.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't do it. He couldn't imagine adjusting his brother's body every time it threatened to slip off. He couldn't picture Jessica's face when he told her. He couldn't imagine himself saying something meaningful or comforting.

When Castiel untied the horses and led them closer, Dean realised that he had been staring at the bodies. He averted his eyes and shivered. Hesitantly, Castiel beckoned him over. Dean had to overcome a new wave of nausea when he understood what Castiel wanted him to do. Together, they hoisted Sam onto Dean's saddle. As always, Castiel was the essence of calm. It is almost like he drags around corpses daily, Dean thought bitterly.

Then Castiel very gently lifted Grace.

A noise that was barely human escaped Dean. It unnerved them both. He didn't know what had caused it. Was it the knowledge that his brother was already lying in the saddle like a sack of grain? Was it the thought that his niece would also be reduced to that?

Somehow Castiel knew what to do. He held Grace and took the reins of his horse. They started the walk back; Dean in front, deliberately keeping his horse behind him and Castiel following.

From time to time, Dean glanced over his shoulder. Quietly, Castiel continued to carry Grace.

As the sun rose in the sky, Dean's face grew hot. It was the fight in him that kept him going. It was the anger that allowed him to carefully tug on his dead brother's leg to prevent him from sliding out of the saddle.

When he finally reached the familiar fences and the barn and the stables, he felt relieved. Until he remembered what was to come. His head pounded, but he still led the way. Castiel trailed behind. They approached the house. Jessica came out. She let out a strangled sob when she spotted Sam.

'No,' she said. When she came running towards them, she almost tripped. She touched Sam's cheek - as if she needed to confirm the reality of the moment - and turned to Dean. There were tears in her eyes.

'What about Grace? Where's my baby?' she asked him. Dean stepped aside and she saw Castiel. He handed Grace to her. As Dean watched her face fall, he found it impossible to believe anything could ever be good again.

Dean felt as if the rage was burning him up from the inside. Alarmed by the noise Jessica was making, Bobby came out to investigate.

'What the fuck?' he breathed. Dean stalked to the house, throwing open the screen door. It slammed shut in his wake. He made a sharp left turn and bumped into the coat rack, sending it clattering to the floor. Past Bobby's room, Raphael's room and his own room to Gabriel's. The door was unlocked.

Immediately, Dean noticed that there were things missing. The silver flask no longer occupied its regular space on the night stand. The new hat was gone. Had Gabriel worn it yesterday when they left? Dean couldn't remember.

He pushed the bed away from the wall. There were marks on the wooden floor from the million times Gabriel had done that himself. With his knife, Dean pried loose the floorboard in the corner. Empty.

'That bastard,' he mumbled.

The bed was closest, so he kicked it. He smashed a lamp. He punched the wall. He broke a chair on the chest of drawers.

'You're bleeding,' Bobby pointed out. He was leaning in the doorway and was watching the destruction unfold. Dean looked at his knuckles. No broken skin there. Suddenly, he felt the blood running from his nose. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. Damn, he was sweating like a pig.

'Maybe you should sit down.'

Furiously, Dean shook his head. He reached out to steady himself against the wall, but stumbled instead. The last thing he remembered was refusing Bobby's helping hand.


	3. Fever breaks

**Chapter Two: Fever breaks**

Before he had joined them at the ranch, Castiel had been a drifter. For some reason, probably because Dean had always had a steady home, Dean had thought of drifting as something kind of romantic. Free spirit, roaming the country, doing whatever the hell you want and all that.

Drifting; that was a nice word. Like floating. Weightless. In a lake or pond.

It was rather less romantic when you were doing some drifting yourself, in and out of consciousness. Dean knew that there was little coherence to what he was thinking, but he was loosely drifting, there was that word again, caught between awake and asleep. His kind of drifting felt a lot like drowning. The blankets piled on top of him were heavy and hot. It felt like lying in a pool of stagnant water. Sweat was pouring down his face.

Every time he thought he was going to wake up and get out from under the blankets, he got pulled back down.

The centre of the… dream? hallucination? was finding Sam and Grace. For each vision of a midget, clown, bearded lady and two-headed lamb – he should really stop going to sideshows – there they were. Sam and Grace, buried in the snow, much more snow than there had actually been. Their faces twisted into almost unrecognisable masks of horror.

'Not this time,' he'd mumble and struggle to stay awake, not knowing whether he was awake or whether it was merely part of the delirium. Not even knowing if he was speaking or if he just thought he was. And there he'd go again.

Finally, he did open his eyes. The light was bright. His skin was covered in a light sheen of cold sweat. One single sheet was draped across his chest. It was clean and white. Like snow.

'Dean? You awake? Want some water?'

Yes, I do, Dean thought. His throat was so dry that trying to speak hurt. Trying to do anything was difficult. When he tried to sit up, Bobby had to help him. His strength was gone. It was embarrassing to have Bobby hold the cup to his lips, but Dean allowed it. He was afraid that he'd drop the water himself.

He sipped slowly and looked around the room. How long had he been ill? His old friend interpreted his questioning glance correctly.

'You were out for five days. Castiel got the doctor. He shouldn't have bothered. The doctor took one look at you and said you had a fever. I could have told him that. Quack! Then he says, get this, that all we can do is wait,' Bobby resentfully related.

'Yellow?' he croaked. Bobby nodded. Dean didn't have much in the way of medical knowledge, but even he knew that yellow fever wasn't a joke. It was one of the most dangerous diseases out there. Dean groaned. He vaguely remembered something about it being caused by a mosquito bite.

Except it was winter. Mosquitoes and winter usually didn't mix well. Just his luck. Dean tried to get out of bed, ignoring Bobby's protests, and was amazed to discover that he could stand. His strength wasn't gone. It was feeble, but it was still there. Wobbly, he made his way to the kitchen.

Breakfast was in full swing. Everyone was surprised, but delighted to see Dean on his feet. Jessica attempted to get him to eat something. All he managed was to drink some milk. The rest of the morning, he sat on the porch, watching the others work.

The kids were awkward around him. Anna and Zachariah especially. Maybe because at seventeen and fifteen they were old enough to understand death. Or not understand it, exactly, but grasp it. They were fine around Jessica, having had a few days to become accustomed to her without Sam, without Grace. She seemed changed. Widowhood had made her harder.

When he wasn't busy with his chores, Joshua kept Dean company. The ten-year-old talked about the crosses his father had made in preparation of the funeral and Dean's heart clenched. He realised that he had hoped they had buried them already. Coward, he silently scolded. Still, he would gladly have slept through that.

In the afternoon, Dean pieced himself together and went to see Raphael. The doctor had also looked at the bodies. Poison had been his guess. Raphael succinctly explained how the doctor had come to that conclusion. There had been no marks on them. The poison had acted quickly, the doctor had estimated, and had resulted in asphyxia.

Choking wasn't painless, no matter how quick, Dean thought. He wasn't sure if he should believe the doctor. He wanted to believe him, but it didn't sound right. They had looked peaceful.

The doctor had informed them too that he had heard rumours about Gabriel. Apparently, he was on a gambling spree in Gustine; two towns over. Throwing around money. That sounded like Gabriel. That he was doing it after callously killing Sam and Grace was a minor detail.

Dean gritted his teeth and asked why they hadn't buried the bodies. With a frown, Raphael replied that they had waited for him. Most likely he didn't mean that they had planned to bury Dean with them if he had succumbed to his illness, but Dean liked to pretend that he had.

Shortly before dinner, they convened behind the barn. The two graves out there were John and Mary's. Dean saw that two more holes had been dug. One big. One small. That couldn't have been easy. The earth was hard.

Raphael, Michael and Bobby carried Sam's coffin. Jessica and Castiel carried Grace's. Dean felt inadequate because he wasn't strong enough to help. He forced himself to look while they awkwardly lowered the coffins into the ground. Anna started to cry. Her mother handed her a handkerchief, before starting to bawl too. Jessica's face was stony as she stared down at the polished wood. No emotion to be detected there.

Michael must have worked day and night on the coffins, Dean realised. He looked at Michael. The carpenter seemed tired. Looking around the little cemetery, Dean noticed that every face appeared tired. While Michael and Raphael filled the holes with black sand, Castiel returned with the crosses. There was some confusion over what cross should go where, which Dean didn't understand, because the carvings were pretty clear.

_Grace Winchester_

_She was only four_

_She died before she was five _

_1904-1908_

and

_Sam Winchester. _

_1883-1908._

He had half expected Michael to whip out the Bible and shove his doctrine down their throats. Instead, there was none of that. No church official. No reading from the good book. Everyone stood around for a few minutes. Dean thought they were unsure of what to do, but when he saw Bobby's lips move he understood what they were doing. They were saying goodbye.

Anna was sobbing in her mother's arms. Michael had piously folded his hands and was unaware of his daughter's distress and the unrest developing amongst his sons. As usual, Raphael and Castiel were silent.

Unlike the others, Jessica wasn't pensive. Much like Dean, she was only praying for it to be over. What 'it' was; he couldn't say. The unorthodox funeral maybe. He focused on Sam's cross. Twenty five years. Dean liked how Michael hadn't added anything. First and last name. Date of birth. Date of death. That was it.

That was it for Sam. He had always been the nice one. The sensible one. He had taught Dean that it was alright to give a damn. At the grave of his brother, Dean took everything good he had ever felt and left it right there.

When he looked up, only Jessica was still standing next to him.

'Bobby went to bed. He stayed awake for five days straight,' she murmured. Dean nodded. It was better that way. Bobby would want to come with him.

During dinner, silence prevailed. Occasionally, someone was asked to pass the cabbage or meat and he or she would oblige quietly. Dean ate some unbuttered toast and a few potatoes without gravy. It wasn't until Michael's wife was putting the children to bed that Dean announced his intentions.

'I'm going after Gabriel,' he said. Par for the course, Raphael didn't say anything. Jessica barely responded either.

'Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you,' Michael quoted. Dean had been counting on this. Counting on Michael bringing his precious beliefs into this nightmare.

'You're god damn right I'm judging my brother's killer.'

'We don't know if Gabriel...' Jessica protested.

'Who else?' he snapped.

'For He said to Moses, I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion,' Michael softly whispered.

'Shut the fuck up, Michael! _Mercy_? I don't even...' Dean shouted, choked up.

Huffily, Michael disappeared upstairs. Jessica excused herself before Dean could say, 'Do you believe this shit?' Now he was alone with Raphael.

'When do you leave?' the other man asked.

'Before dawn.'

'Shouldn't Bobby go?'

Dean briefly considered the question before answering.

'No.'

Raphael might be correct. Maybe Bobby had a right to come, or at least to decide for himself, but Dean didn't want him to. Bobby was old. Too old to do what must be done. Dean got up from the table. Passing the screen door, he noticed that there was a light on in the stables. Horse boy, he thought wryly as he continued on his way.

In his bedroom, Dean collected the necessities. He would get the rest tomorrow. Slowly, he lit a cigarette. His hand shook. There were new, fresh sheets on the bed. White again, like snow. He settled against the pillow.

He tried. That red oak and the horses clustered around the bodies. He tried to forget it. Yet, it kept him awake.


	4. Silent ways

**Chapter Three: Silent ways**

Dean slept fuck all. Burned through cigarettes like crazy. When he ran out, he went outside. He knew he had said dawn, but damn, he was done waiting. It was dark outside and the air was chilly. On the way to the stables, he almost fell flat on his face – six times.

Muttering his way through some choice expletives, he tried to hoist a saddle onto a horse, but the nervous animal was shifting around all over the place. The exertion of holding the heavy saddle and having to lift it for the fifteenth time in a row was wearing Dean out. He was pretty relieved when he managed to get the saddle on. Quickly, he secured the straps.

It was then that he saw something stir in the bales of hay to his left. Castiel appeared, dusted himself off and plucked a few stray blades of dried grass out of his hair. To Dean's annoyance, Castiel managed to look rested after spending half the night in the stables doing God knows what.

Dean opened his mouth to ask what the hell the guy was doing, but thought better of it. It was none of his business anyway. Shaking his head, Dean walked outside with the horse in his wake. He could barely distinguish between the black shape of the house and the deep blue of the sky. This is dumb, Dean thought. His horse riding skills were just sufficient in broad daylight. Still, after checking his supplies one last time, he somehow got on the horse.

The moon was full. Dean hoped that this would be enough for his eyes to get accustomed to the dark to the point where he'd be able to see shit. That slowly happened.

Castiel led his horse out of the stables. It stood still obediently while he went about the business of saddling it. This was done in approximately five minutes. In one graceful movement, Castiel mounted the horse. They waited. When neither made any attempt to move, Dean finally guessed what was going on.

That meddling idiot Raphael must have told Castiel about his plan and now horse boy thought that he could come. Before Dean could say anything to disabuse Castiel of that notion, Castiel clacked his tongue and took the lead. Squinting, Dean stared after him. Freak must have slept in the stables to make sure I wouldn't leave without him, Dean realised. That was some fucking dedication. He had no idea what he had done to deserve it.

When Dean didn't follow, Castiel stopped and sighed impatiently. Dean spit at the ground he couldn't see and trotted after Castiel.

In darkness, they passed the place where they had found Sam and Grace. The roads were familiar, which probably accounted for their uneventful journey. It certainly wasn't Dean's horsemanship that had gotten him through the night unscathed.

They reached town around sunrise. Blinking against the bright sunlight, Dean paused to grab his flask. While thirstily drinking some water, he observed the bustling townsfolk with a scowl. He had already decided that they weren't going to stop. When Dean spotted Lucifer, however, he halted.

'Lucifer,' he called out.

Many heads turned to see who Dean was addressing and he found himself wondering again what it must be like to have that name in such a God fearing country. What must have possessed his parents to do that to him? Add to that the fact that Lucifer was also running the only brothel and gambling house in town and his unfortunate name suddenly seemed well-chosen.

'I go by Nick now. It's preferable to _Lucifer_,' he chuckled. 'Who told you about that name? Michael, I bet.'

Dean realized that, yes, it was Michael who always called him Lucifer, but Raphael or Gabriel had never objected, though Gabriel had seemed amused.

'Have you seen Gabriel?' Dean asked. He wasn't in the mood for jokes or small talk. On every supply run, Gabriel frequented the brothel, so if anyone knew where he was it would be Lucifer. Knowing Gabriel, he would have racked up quite a debt at the place.

'Last I heard, he was in Gustine,' Lucifer said. Appraising Castiel like a horse, Lucifer tipped his hat and spoke to him in a friendly manner. The young man stared straight ahead without acknowledging the greeting in any way. After an uncomfortable moment, wherein Castiel continued to stare blankly, Lucifer turned to Dean again.

'Hey, I heard about…'

'Yeah,' Dean interrupted. He quickly took off, leaving Lucifer and eventually the town behind. Catching Castiel's confused expression, he slowed down.

'I don't want to be told how everyone's real sorry about... About my loss. Nobody's sorrier than me,' he explained. Castiel nodded.

As they continued their journey in silence, with every hour Castiel's back came to seem more and more like a question mark to Dean. Who was Castiel? Why was he accompanying Dean? Could he be trusted?

It occurred to Dean that Castiel was a mystery. The boy had shown up five years ago on the ranch, unable to tell them his date of birth or even his year of birth. Seventeen seemed like a safe bet, so they had settled on that. Since he was closest to Sam in age, they had struck up a friendship. Dean didn't get it, because Castiel rarely talked.

Castiel had claimed that his mother had named Gabriel as one of the men who could be Castiel's father. It took only one look at the two of them to know that this was very fucking unlikely. Gabriel had always denied it too. No one was sure whether Castiel really believed that Gabriel was his unwilling father or whether he had just stopped looking. Either way, Castiel had stayed.

Hour after hour spend on a horse made it perfectly clear that the fever had weakened Dean. His strength was leaving him when it wasn't dusk yet. Clinging to the motive he had to keep going, Dean tried to imagine what he'd do to Gabriel once they caught up to him, but he kept getting sidetracked by how little he knew of Castiel.

Sam had said that Castiel's mother had died when he was young and that Castiel had drifted ever since. Drifting; that is a pretty vague term. Dean wondered what he would have had to do to survive. He surprised himself by caring. To dispel the unwelcome emotion, he spoke rather harshly.

'Always thought Lucifer was the bad seed of the family. Guess I was wrong.'

After a sharp glance at Dean, Castiel merely shrugged. Suddenly, he signalled his horse to stop. Dean scanned the horizon for danger of some kind, but detected nothing. Nevertheless, Castiel slipped off his horse and led it up a small hill. It wasn't until he tied his horse to a tree that Dean understood what he was doing.

'We ain't resting,' Dean insisted, but Castiel paid him no mind. Eventually, Dean also dismounted. He was too tired to do much of anything after managing this. Too tired to stand, too tired to sit. Everything ached. Castiel was the one who provided the horses with water, pitched Dean's tent, made a fire and warmed up two cans of beans.

After dinner, Dean crawled into his tent and waited for sleep to come. The entire day his eyes had kept closing of their own accord, so you'd think it'd be easy. Apparently not. Dean peeked out of his tent. Castiel sat away from the fire, close to the horses.

'I reckon there's enough room for two in here,' Dean offered, but Castiel shook his head. He tapped his rifle. Ah, he is keeping first watch, Dean thought. Well, that was fine.

Shadows of the flames danced on the tent's saggy roof. Weird, elusive forms appeared against the brown cloth and vanished just as quickly. Dean watched them for a while, until he began to feel as if he was suffocating. It was cold outside, but inside the tent it was simply too hot. Dean tried to wrestle out of his pile of quilts and after succeeding he dragged everything out of the tent and close to the fire. He lay back down. This was better.

'Good night,' Dean said. Castiel didn't answer.

'A good night to you too, Dean. And don't you worry. I'll shoot anyone who approaches our camp,' Dean provided in gravelly tones. Castiel still didn't say anything.

'Gee, thanks,' Dean answered, reverting back to his regular voice. He began to relax in earnest. That wonderful feeling of being about to fall asleep engulfed him. Quietly, he turned onto his side.

'Thanks,' he whispered, sincerely this time. His eyes closed. Out here, Dean drowsily realised, he kind of depended on this guy he barely knew. That should have scared him, but for some reason it didn't.

(***)

They reached Gustine around noon the next day. Gabriel was gone. In the local saloon, they found out that Gabriel had lost a shitload of money gambling. He wasn't exactly a saver to begin with, so Dean calculated that he was probably through all the money he'd stolen. They asked around to see which direction he'd gone. To Dean's amazement, Gabriel apparently didn't mean to leave the state.

'He knows we're coming for him,' Dean murmured. Castiel raised his eyebrows, as if to say 'what else's new?' which, to be fair, _of course_. You didn't kill someone's brother and niece and didn't know that you were going to get chased.

Still, this was weird. Gabriel had committed murder for that money and instead of hightailing it out of Texas immediately, he'd gambled away all of it barely a day's ride away from the ranch. Didn't seem logical.

They went off in the direction that Gabriel had taken. Puzzled, Dean tried to make sense of Gabriel's behaviour. They were heading deeper into Comanche County and he didn't like it one bit. Was Gabriel trying to hide or was something else going on?

The sun was steadily dropping below the horizon. When they came to a crossroads, they hadn't seen anyone for quite a while. Both men dismounted and searched the ground. Castiel indicated one path. Dean groused that all the tracks looked the same. Patiently, Castiel showed him a mark in the earth. It might have been interpreted as a very faint hoof print. He seemed serious. Dean thought he was full of shit, until he recalled that the horses were Castiel's special domain. Maybe he was able to identify a horse by its hoofs. That was quite a skill.

'You're a good tracker, ain't you?'Dean asked. Castiel nodded. Not arrogantly, just, question requires answer: yeah.

'You look beat. We'll camp here and continue tomorrow,' Dean decided. It was Dean's attempt to regain control over their expedition again. Castiel didn't look tired at all, but he didn't protest.

Castiel took care of the horses, while Dean collected some twigs and branches for the fire. They enjoyed their dinner of beans in silence. It started to snow. It wasn't rational, Dean knew that, but he had come to associate it with death. His father and mother had died when it was snowing. Snow had announced Sam and Grace's death.

It was only after he was snug inside his blankets and ready for sleep that he remembered that instead of taking only the first watch the night before, Castiel had stayed up the entire night, watching over him. Even though he didn't _look_ tired, he must be tired. When he saw that Castiel had already taken up his place outside the circle of light provided by the fire, he was relieved. Lying back down, Dean silently vowed to take the shift the next night.

He wished Castiel good night again, not expecting an answer and not getting one. He wondered who - if anyone - was going to die tomorrow. He hoped it would be Gabriel.

'If he's hiding,' he said to himself, 'we'll find him and sneak up on him real quiet like.'

Grinning, Dean rolled onto his stomach and looked at Castiel. Horse boy was wrapped tightly into his thick coat.

'That shouldn't be a problem for you.'

Dean settled on his side with his back to the other man. Castiel smiled.


	5. Russian roulette

**Chapter Four: Russian roulette**

Castiel was up long before Dean, getting the horses ready. This was much appreciated, but it also irritated Dean. It was like the guy wasn't even human. Another thing Dean wasn't comfortable with: they were now going entirely by Castiel's insane tracking ability. Were they going the right way? He had no idea. Every time he asked Castiel whether he was sure, Castiel just nodded firmly. Dean continued to follow, but he was growing more uncertain by the hour.

It had warmed up during the night, so there was no snow on the ground. Still, all this snowing and melting business couldn't be making finding tracks any easier. Dean was gearing up to ask again whether Castiel knew what he was doing when he noticed that Castiel's attention was focused elsewhere. There was movement on the horizon.

Pulling his hat down to shade his eyes, Dean strained to see two figures on horseback rapidly approaching. Indians. Dean tensed. He had never met an Indian before, but the stories weren't encouraging. His horse whinnied and impatiently scraped its hoofs. Dean began to take his rifle out of his saddlebag. Castiel shook his head and, reluctantly, Dean put the rifle back. They waited until the Indians were a few yards away.

The Indians wore animal hides fashioned into clothes. Broad leather bands were wrapped around their wrists. Their faces were covered with bright red tattoos. They wore a buffalo's scalp, including horns, on their head. None of this inspired confidence in Dean. Uneasily, the four men scrutinised each other.

Castiel spoke and Dean practically fell off his horse. Horse boy could talk Indian! Not having had occasion to hear Castiel speak at length before, Dean listened with interest. The young man had a very distinctive voice. Deep and smooth. When Dean moved on to trying to follow the conversation, he got nowhere. The only thing he understood was 'Gabriel.'

The tallest of the Indians pointed at the rifle sticking out of Dean's saddle bag. The gesture filled Dean with renewed unease. He put his hand over the gun. Castiel simply nodded and fished something out of his own saddle bag. He held it up for the Indians to see. It was a knife. Its blade was carved with symbols and the handle had been made to resemble a branch. It was beautiful. Now Dean felt kind of stupid for refusing to give up his old rifle.

Before he could protest, however, Castiel brought his horse forward and gave the knife to the Indians for them to inspect. They both seemed to approve. What happened next was clear even to Dean, who didn't know what the hell was being said. The tall Indian was giving them instructions on how to find Gabriel. He conveniently pointed in the direction they had already been travelling anyway.

'He could be lying,' Dean pointed out, but Castiel shushed him.

'I don't feel comfortable giving them weapons,' he added. It was a little too late for that advice, but Dean had always enjoyed being contrary. Castiel proceeded to completely ignore him. The tall Indian handed the knife to his companion and when he put it away a glimpse of something inside the Indian's pouch made Dean sit up straight.

'Can you ask if he will show me that? That clump?' Dean asked. Despite the Indians obvious mistrust of the request, Castiel managed to persuade them. One look was all he got, but it was enough to confirm Dean's suspicions. It was the clump of gold Gabriel claimed to have gotten during the rush in Klondike. Not that Dean had believed that unlikely story. He doubted Gabriel had set foot in Canada. The gold was probably stolen.

Gabriel had kept the clump hidden in his room. Once, when they were both especially drunk, Gabriel had taken it from its hiding place and shown it to Dean. He'd said that if he ever got tired of raising cattle, he would take the gold and split. And, as it turned out, murder Sam and Grace in the process. Dean quickly pushed that out of his mind.

So, at least they now knew that the Indians had really met Gabriel. Though what could have convinced Gabriel to give up the gold, Dean couldn't say. Was that the only thing he had had left to trade? Trade for what? Warily, each party kept an eye on the other party until they were out of sight.

When the Indians were gone, Dean whooped and clapped Castiel on the back.

'You're a man of many talents,' he shouted. Castiel tried not to look pleased and failed spectacularly.

'Where did you learn that?'

Castiel vaguely gestured with his left hand, before taking the lead again. Left to his own devises, Dean interpreted the gesture to mean 'around.' Around. When he was doing his drifting. Smiling, Dean watched Castiel until the purpose of their journey came back to him. Then he drove his spurs a little too hard into his poor horse's flanks to keep up.

(***)

Night had fallen, but they hadn't stopped to rest. Nor were they going to, by the look of things. Dean didn't need to be told why: they were close. All the light they had to guide them was the glow of the moon and a few scattered stars.

'You think we'll get him tonight?' Dean whispered. Placing his finger on his lips, Castiel soundlessly slipped off his horse and tied the reins around a nearby tree. He indicated that Dean should do the same. Without giving it a second thought, Dean did as he was told.

Castiel cocked his head. He was listening for something. Dean stood perfectly still, ignoring the sound of his heartbeat and the blood rushing through his veins. He didn't know which was louder. Shivering, they stood there for what seemed like a long time. At long last, Dean heard it too. The noise was faint, but unmistakable. Stone hitting stone. Branch rubbing against branch. Someone was trying to start a fire.

Castiel grabbed his rifle. Dean went for the revolver. It was loaded. It had been loaded since departure. This was what he had come to do. Wordlessly, they parted. Castiel went left, Dean went right. They weaved through the trees. It was like hunting, except nothing like it at all. They reached a small clearing.

There was no tent, no blanket, no weapon, and no food. There was nothing in the clearing, except Gabriel and one of the horses he had made off with. It was Sam's. Dean recognised it and clenched his jaw. Futilely trying to get a fire going, Gabriel never heard them coming, until they emerged out of the woods with their guns drawn.

'Dean. I can explain.'

It was a running joke. Gabriel would say it and then explain some already dire situation by only implicating himself further. _I can explain why that woman slapped me. I didn't cheat on her. I cheated on her... with her sister. And then my horse accidentally trampled her cat. _

'No, no! I'm not kidding. I really can explain. Lucifer made me do it,' Gabriel yelled, raising his hands in the air. He stumbled backwards and landed on his side. When he tried to get up, Dean kicked him back down.

'Talk,' he growled.

'I had a gambling debt, you know, at Lucifer's place. Had one for a long time. Us being brothers and all, I didn't think he'd mind. But suddenly he wanted the money. I told him I didn't have it and he threatened me. Real nasty stuff. Guys... doing things to me. I told him again that I didn't have the money. He told me to get it or else. I really didn't have the money, you know that...'

'Get to the fucking point.'

'Lucifer said he knew a way for me to get the money. I could steal the money meant for supplies. Now, I didn't want to. I told him that. I said, 'I can't.' He gets very graphic. I tell him that it can't be done; that I'm never alone with the money. That it's always me and someone else. That's when he gave me the sleeping potion.'

Frowning, Dean looked at Gabriel. The youngest of the Angel brothers was too wrapped up in his pathetic attempt at talking his way out of an execution to notice.

'He didn't say it was so strong. I must have given them too much, 'cause they, they...'

He looked up at Dean with tears in his eyes. Dean met his gaze with eyes that remained hard like diamonds. Gabriel shook his head.

'Dean, you know I wouldn't do that. You know me. I wouldn't. Not Grace.'

'It wasn't a sleeping potion. It was poison,' Dean said. His voice sounded strange. Like he had lived about a hundred years.

'I didn't know. I swear. You gotta believe me,' Gabriel pleaded. Dean spun this story around in his head. Gabriel was an excellent liar. Routinely cleaned up at their bi-monthly poker games because of it. He could be lying about this.

On the other hand, Lucifer was a bad guy. A guy not to be trusted. He could have tricked him. If they took Gabriel into town, they could confront Lucifer and find out which version was the truth.

Dean stared at Gabriel and decided that it didn't matter. Whether he had meant to or not, Gabriel had killed them.

He aimed at Gabriel's chest. Gabriel scrambled away from him. Held up his hands in front of his face, his body, as if they would stop the bullet. He begged, grovelled, cried.

'Please, Dean. Don't do this.'

From far, far away, Michael still managed to be annoying. Something about compassion. Something about mercy. It did absolutely nothing to sway Dean's resolve. This was for Sam. That thought _did_ give him pause.

Sam wouldn't have liked this whole thing. Running around, trying to kill people. Nope, Sam would not have liked it one bit. Slowly, Dean lowered his revolver. Gabriel thanked him profusely. Dean didn't hear him. He thought about what his brother would have wanted.

That didn't help. It made him angrier, 'cause Sam wasn't around to answer the question anymore. Yeah, Sam wouldn't have wanted this. But he also wouldn't have wanted to be dead. Still...

'I'm gonna try something. See how I like it,' Dean announced. He emptied the revolver's chambers. Gabriel followed his movements with huge eyes as Dean put one bullet in and pushed the cylinder back into place. Savoring the fear in Gabriel's eyes, Dean spun the cylinder.

There was a dull click. Dean pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Gabriel let out a relieved laugh, which he just as quickly stifled.

'Now Grace.'

Smirking, Dean watched as the horror returned to Gabriel's face. He waited. Gabriel was too terrified to speak. Dean pulled the trigger again. Nothing happened again.

'You lucky son of a bitch,' Dean sneered. He half-turned to discover Castiel standing beside him. Castiel's rifle was still trained on Gabriel. Dean approached the horse and took its reins.

'At least leave the horse,' Gabriel stammered. His teeth were chattering. Without sparing him a look, Dean refused.

'No.'

Suddenly, everything happened very fast. Gabriel screamed something. Dean let go off the reins and started to turn around. He saw Gabriel get to his feet. A gunshot erupted and the situation was completely different. The horse was gone. There was a new revolver lying by the campfire. Dean was kneeling next to it. Gabriel was back on the ground, clutching his bleeding hand. The only one who didn't seem to have moved at all was Castiel.

Thin wisps of warmth were curling from his rifle's barrel into the crisp night air. Dean collected the revolver. He glanced at Castiel. Castiel vanished into the woods, clacked his tongue like a maniac and came back with Sam's horse. They prepared to leave.

'You can't leave me here. I'll die.'

'So?'

Gabriel had no response to that. Dean grimaced. Leaving Gabriel now would be like killing him. There was no grey area. So, either they had to actually kill him now or take him back with them. Dean glanced at Castiel, who shrugged as if to say 'you decide.' That was fucking great.

'We'll take him with us. See if his story pans out,' Dean decided. He hauled Gabriel up by the latter's coat. It was damp and soiled.

'Mercy is the mark of a great man,' Gabriel whimpered gratefully. Oh shit, Dean thought, I'm going kill him after all. Instead, he knocked him unconscious against the nearest tree.

(***)

Later that night.

They had bound and gagged Gabriel. Castiel had even bandaged the gunshot wound as well as he could, after Dean asked him to.

'I could have killed him,' Dean said, looking into the fire. The flames leapt high. He had felt almost relieved when the fated chambers were empty. He was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to feel like that. Dean didn't need to look at Castiel to know that the other man was listening intently. It was all Castiel ever did. Listen and help him and save his life.

'It wasn't easy. Pulling the trigger, I mean. Even knowing that he'd, you know…'

His voice trailed off. He welcomed a new surge of anger.

'God damn it! Why'd he do it? What'd he go and do that for?'

He pounded the ground with his fist. Castiel stirred, but didn't intervene. Dean punched the earth until his hand was numb and bleeding. When he was done, he looked up to find Castiel staring at him. The other man didn't blink. He simply tore a strip of an already shredded cloth and tended to Dean's hand.

'Thanks,' Dean mumbled. He felt so tired. Close to the fire, Dean curled up for the night. His hand was starting to throb. It felt kinda nice. He'd almost drifted off when he remembered that he'd vowed to let Castiel get some much deserved sleep. Unenthusiastically, he opened his eyes. Castiel wasn't keeping watch with the horses as usual. Dean turned slightly to take a look at their prisoner. A still out for the count Gabriel didn't have Castiel near him either.

Rolling over, getting tangled in layers of blankets, Dean finally found Castiel. Lying right next to him, fast asleep.


	6. Sleep keeps me awake

**Chapter Five: Sleep keeps me awake**

Getting out from under the blankets piled on top of him caused Dean some trouble. The cold had seeped into his bones during the night. In his struggle to free himself, he rolled over and accidentally onto Castiel. The younger man's eyes shot open. Dean wanted to laugh, but he didn't get the chance.

Castiel abruptly pushed him away. More than a little surprised by his companion's uncharacteristic reaction, Dean observed how his shoulders were set just a mite higher than usual. What the hell was that all about?

While Castiel tended to the horses, Dean woke up a shivering Gabriel and allowed him to drink some water. Not too much, though.

Dean turned to watch Castiel. He was standing in the midst of the horses. If Dean did that, it would probably result in death by hoof. Castiel was carefully sliding his hands over the legs of Sam's horse, as if checking them. The horse whinnied plaintively when Castiel got to its back leg. It must have gotten hurt last night when it fled into the woods, Dean realised.

'Can it continue?' he inquired, hopefully. Castiel nodded, but he looked worried. Gabriel spoke, which reminded Dean that he'd forgotten to gag him again.

'Suppose I...?'

'Suppose I shoot you. Shut up. You're walking.'

(***)

They moved at a crawl with Gabriel and the injured horse trailing behind them. Soon, the horse was limping. That afternoon, the horse wouldn't get back up after resting.

Castiel kneeled by it, between its legs. He kept one hand splayed reassuringly on the horse's belly, shushed it and softly stroked its ankle, barely touching it. The horse weakly tried to get up, but failed. Castiel got to his feet and loaded his rifle. Dean placed his hand over Castiel's and stopped him.

'I'll do it.'

Castiel didn't relinquish the rifle. Dean sighed and held out his hand. Finally, Castiel handed it over. He indicated the spot where Dean should shoot the animal and led away the other two horses. Dean took aim. After a beat, he lowered the rifle and without turning, addressed Castiel.

'Thanks for offering.'

Then he raised the rifle to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. The other horses started a bit at the loud crack of the gunshot. Their nostrils flared, the white of their eyes showed, their ears were pinned back. Castiel stroked their flanks, which calmed them down.

When Gabriel proposed eating the horse's meat, Castiel hit him. Hard.

'Good call,' was all Dean said about that.

(***)

Day bled into night. Night bled into day. They were low on food. They hadn't counted on bringing Gabriel back alive; at least, Dean hadn't. Sometimes he thought that he hadn't contemplated going back at all. As if his life would have ended with Gabriel's.

'You're damn good with that rifle,' Dean remarked, thinking about how Castiel had shot the revolver straight out of Gabriel's hand. Castiel shrugged.

'Have you ever killed someone?' Dean asked, out of the blue.

Castiel nodded. There was no pride in the acknowledgement. Resignation, if anything.

It said something about the kinda life Castiel had led. Drifting seemed less and less romantic the more Dean learned about it. There wasn't a lot of opportunity to hunt around the ranch. Too much work to be done. Castiel had never accompanied them when the few times they went. Dean had assumed it was because he was such an animal lover, but now he suspected that Castiel hadn't wanted to let on how good he was at it. It wasn't something to be proud of, especially not the way Castiel had most likely come by it.

'It's not something you wanna be good at, I guess,' Dean mumbled. Castiel looked at him. He doesn't want that for me, Dean realised. That's why he came.

(***)

'_I'll happily blow you away,' he said to Lucifer. He said it, but he wasn't feeling it. _

'_You know there's only one thing you're cut out for. So, why don't you?' Lucifer suggested, laughing. He's right, Dean thought. I can't take a life._

'_Why don't you die?' Lucifer whispered._

Dean woke up covered in sweat. I'm not as tough as I thought I would be, he thought, only to follow that up with; bullshit, you're plenty tough.

'I'll take the next watch,' he told Castiel. The younger man didn't question it. He just closed his eyes and went to sleep.

(***)

They slowly ran out of food and water.

It was hard, at first. Being hungry and thirsty and continuing to walk. Still, an empty belly in an aching body was easier to take than the weight Dean carried in his chest. Then a curious thing happened. A sort of lightness came over Dean. It started with his lack of appetite. That was convenient.

The next thing to go was sadness. That was okay too. It made him colder and meaner. It was nice, really.

He didn't have a lot left now. Just anger. And something to prove.

Then the nightmare returned, so Dean simply stopped sleeping. That was even nicer.


	7. Wanted man

**Chapter Six: Wanted man**

When exhaustion made Dean slump in his saddle, the anger kept him upright. Its gnawing never stopped.

'I ain't feelin' so hot,' he mumbled. He felt light in the head. Who knew that lightness could be that heavy? Castiel didn't appear to hear, so Dean soldiered on.

It wasn't anything physical that eventually did him in. The problem is that nothing feels right, Dean thought, before sliding into empty air. He met the frozen ground face first. His right foot was still tangled in the stirrup, but he didn't possess the strength to haul it out.

'Are you okay?'

It wasn't Castiel's gravelly, rarely used voice doing the asking. Hands were patting down Dean's clothes. His foot was none too gently removed from the stirrup. He rolled onto his back. The sky was a great expanse of white. No clouds, just an icy blank. Castiel popped into frame and helped him up. The side of Dean's face was throbbing.

They stood, Dean's arm slung across Castiel's shoulder. The world swayed. Dean tried to focus. Finally, he began to recognise the situation for what it was. His spectacular dive had given Gabriel an opportunity. And Gabriel had grabbed it with both hands.

He was training a revolver – Dean's revolver – on them. Castiel's rifle was still useless in his saddlebag. He must have jumped off his horse when he saw that I was down, Dean realised.

'Go ahead, kill me then,' Dean urged. He was beyond caring at this point. Castiel stiffened at his side.

'I was your friend,' Gabriel protested, appalled.

Dean spat out a thick glob of blood to show what he thought of _that_. He shuffled closer to Gabriel, aided by Castiel. Dean raised his head and, ignoring the barrel of the gun, looked Gabriel dead in the eye.

'I want you to understand something. Me allowing you to live; I didn't do that for you.'

Gabriel winced and trotted over to Castiel's horse. He took hold of Castiel's rifle and slipped it into his own saddlebag. That might have been the last of it. Dean so wished it had been. However, Gabriel had more wisdom to impart.

'Lucifer ain't the type to appreciate mercy,' Gabriel warned. He started to rub each wrist in turn, absentmindedly.

'Junior here knows what I mean,' he added, nodding at Castiel, before focusing on Dean again. They stared at each other.

'He'll shoot you dead, 's what I'm saying.'

(***)

Gabriel had taken all their supplies. The only thing he'd left was Castiel's horse. Dean tried not to be grateful, because that wasn't exactly the feeling he wanted to be feeling towards Gabriel. I should have killed him when I had the chance, Dean thought. Mercy: what a motherfucker.

Night replaced day. He was in a bad state. It was so, so cold. Even with his front plastered against Castiel's back while they rode the one horse, he was freezing. He needed a warm bed. Soon. The cold had rendered his limbs uncooperative. Unembarrassed, Dean pressed himself tighter against Castiel.

(***)

'_Couldn't do it, could you?' Lucifer taunted. The pleasure in his voice was unmistakable. _

'_Oh, I'm going to get the man who killed my family,' Dean announced. Lucifer smiled._

'_That a fact?'_

'_I'm coming for you,' Dean promised, attempting to match Lucifer's smile. _

'_Ah, come on. Don't be like that. Take a good swing at me and we'll call it even,' Lucifer said. Suddenly, Lucifer transformed into Castiel. The young man's gaze was steely, his jaw set._

'_I'll tell you the secret to a long life,' Castiel said. His blue eyes were fixed on Dean._

'_Don't hesitate. Don't miss. Don't be sorry. Don't think that this will be easy. There's no easy here, Dean. There's only one way. Oh, and don't die.'_

Dean swallowed and lay awake with eyes closed until his heart was beating at a normal rate. He was buried underneath a mountain of blankets. He was in a room. His own room back at the ranch. They were home. Closing his eyes, he expected to be asleep again within seconds, but it was no good. There was something missing.

He got out of bed and left the room. At the end of the hall light shone through an open door. The door to Castiel's room. Quietly, Dean walked the length of the hall and paused in the doorway. Castiel was sitting on his bed, cleaning a revolver. His movements were slow and measured. Dean observed the muscles shifting under his skin as Castiel swiped an oily cloth across the weapon. It had a calming effect on Dean. After a while, Castiel looked up and noticed him. Attempting to come up with a reason for being there, Dean posed him a question.

'Cas? If I go after Lucifer, will you come?'

Castiel stopped cleaning for a moment and nodded. That should have been enough, but Dean felt anything but satisfied. He couldn't shake the feeling that if Castiel said something it would make him feel better. So, he asked him something that would require more than a nod.

'Why? What do you want?'

Smiling, Castiel continued his work on the revolver. The smile made Dean's scalp tingle. The silence pissed him off. When it was clear to everyone with a lick of sense that Gabriel was not Castiel's father, why had Castiel stayed at the ranch anyway? This wasn't his fight, so why was he prepared to die? What were his motives? Dean stepped into the bedroom.

'I'm getting real tired of this quiet bullshit of yours. Open your mouth. Why did you stay here five years ago? Why did you go with me when I went after Gabriel? Stop cleaning that damn gun! Answer me! _What_ _do you want_?' he demanded.

Castiel got up from the bed, putting the gun aside. He walked up to Dean and kissed him. It was nothing much. Just a peck. Then he sat back down and watched Dean. Dean's heart hammered in his throat.

'You...' Dean began, but he was unable to find another fucking word. Maybe some things were better left unsaid anyway. All out of moves, Dean lay down beside Castiel. Castiel pulled Dean against him. They were a snug fit. For a while, Castiel simply held him.

Eventually, though, the younger man shoved Dean's clothes up, baring his back and mapping out his skin. At least, that was what it felt like to Dean. Castiel's fingers and lips skimmed across every scar and freckle, making memories to last. No longer was the tiny scar on Dean's lower back only a reminder of the time he fell off his horse. Now it was also the first thing Castiel slid the tip of his tongue over. The supple leather of Dean's belt slipped through Castiel's hands like reins as he nipped at the skin of Dean's neck. Dean turned around and kissed him.

Nothing felt right. Nothing. Except this.


	8. Drip dry

_Author's note: Reviews are still super welcome._

**Chapter Seven: Drip dry**

Dawn.

The air was crisp. To the left of Dean, the porch creaked. Castiel came to stand behind him and steadied his aim without even looking at the intended target. Not that it mattered, because Dean couldn't fire for fear of waking everyone up. The cans were safe.

Ammunition might be an issue, Dean realised. He needed to talk to Bobby about that. The feeling of not-rightness had returned with a vengeance, but he was better equipped to handle it this time around. He was warm and somewhat rested. Also, surprisingly hungry.

Castiel fixed them breakfast while the house slowly came to life. Before long the table was laden with food and surrounded by people. It wasn't until Dean was polishing off his second plate that he noticed how serious everyone was looking. Quickly and without chewing, he swallowed his last bite and choked out a couple of sentences.

'It ain't so bad. Yeah, Gabriel got away, but he said some stuff that...'

'We've got news. Raphael went into town,' Bobby interrupted.

Raphael took his sweet time telling. Meticulously, maddeningly, he explained that he'd found Gabriel's silver flask near the place where the bodies had been. It had contained hemlock seeds. According to Raphael, there was no way Sam and Grace wouldn't have died; even if they'd only drunk a little. Hemlock poison was extremely potent. Raphael had then visited town to talk to the local quack. Sufficiently intimidated, the charlatan had confessed that he'd recently sold a concoction containing a high concentration of hemlock to one person: Lucifer. Dean processed the new information. So, Gabriel had not been lying. Not about that, at least.

'Gabriel claimed that he didn't know it was poison. Could he have been telling the truth?' Dean asked.

'Lucifer would have enjoyed tricking him,' Raphael conceded. When Dean subsequently announced that he was going to take the fight to Lucifer and that Castiel was coming along, Jessica's jaw clenched. She fixed him with a glare.

'Fuck you, Dean,' she snarled, before exiting the kitchen.

'What was _that_ all about?' Dean inquired. He turned to Bobby for guidance, seeing suddenly how drawn Bobby's face looked. Bobby pushed back his chair.

'She's mad as hell, son. I'd give you a goin' over myself if I didn't think you'd somehow manage to miss the point,' he replied. He went after Jess. The table emptied until Castiel was left. He stood and beckoned, so Dean followed. Castiel led the way to his bedroom at the end of the hall and entered first. Dean was barely in the door before something hit him in the face.

Luckily, it was a pillow. It bounced back. The pillow was embroidered with four pictures. Two were largely unrecognisable. Dean guessed they were maybe monsters. The third and fourth were a clumsily stitched horse and a smiling sun. More objects landed on the floor. A blue rock skidded across the wooden boards. A bunch of feather floated in the air. Useless things that Grace had constantly been doling out.

An ugly, coarse haired quilt thudded against Dean's feet. He recognised it as something Sam had bought for Castiel's designated birthday. With a shock, Dean recalled a thing his brother had once said. _If push comes to shove Castiel has my back. That's what being friends means._

'Alright, I get it. I'm not the only one who's lost someone. Stop throwing shit.'

They stared at each other. It was a hard thing for Dean to acknowledge that he had been appropriating everyone's grief. No one could possibly feel what he was feeling and revenge was for him alone. Meanwhile the house was filled with people who were hurting just as much or more. This changed things considerably. He couldn't deny them the right to get their own back.

As his shame intensified, Dean grabbed a rifle and made his way down the hall. He could hear voices outside. He walked across the porch and right up to Jessica.

'You ever fire a weapon before?'

She shook her head. Dean handed her the rifle.

'Cas is a hell of a shot: ask him to teach you. If you wanna come. That goes for y'all,' Dean invited, peering into everyone's faces. Bobby nodded with approval.

'Vengeance belongs to the Lord,' Michael – who else? – protested. Well, at least he's stopped attributing lofty intentions to me, Dean thought. Gone was talk of mercy.

'I'll come, Dean,' Zachariah piped up with a contemptuous glance at Michael.

'No son of mine will take part in this. I forbid it,' Michael ordained.

'This ain't got nothing to do with you! I'm going,' Zachariah insisted. He could be just as stubborn as his father.

'I'm sorry, but you're not, kid,' Dean said, nixing the idea. Fifteen was too young. Plain and simple. Muttering under his breath, Zachariah stalked away with wounded pride.

If Dean had been thinking that killing Lucifer would be as simple as challenging him to a shootout, he could think again. Raphael corrected that assumption right quick. During his visit to town, he had seen more of Lucifer's men hanging around the saloon than ever before. They had all been armed and vigilant.

'He's expecting us,' Bobby summarised.

'And he plays dirty,' Raphael pointed out. As if Dean needed any more reminders that Lucifer was the devil himself.

**(***)**

Dusk.

The wind was pretty fierce. That was bound to fuck up his aim. Not that it mattered. His aim was shitty anyway. For now he just wanted to get a feel for the tools of the trade. He shouldered the rifle and squinted past the barrel at the empty cans he'd lined up that morning. They glinted in the darkness.

It would probably end up being close range, so the rifle wouldn't be of much use. Dean put down the rifle and handled the revolver. He raised his arm and imagined squeezing the trigger. The revolver's cylinder would be hot. The barrel would be too. He would feel the heat radiating off them. It would sear his flesh if he touched either of them.

The cans rattled in the wind. Moonlight illuminated the barn and what lay beyond it. Dean's aim wavered.

There they were. Four crosses in rows of two. Side by side. Dean looked at them and furrowed his brow. He could feel himself doing it. Wrinkle, wrinkle. If he was going to crack, this was as good a time as any. He walked over. He read the names and dates on the crosses, but nothing happened.

It got colder and later and darker and he was still waiting for the moment when he'd come apart. It _had_ to come, right? For the life of him, though, Dean couldn't get into the right mood. Sure, he was afraid of the volatility of his emotions, but lots of things you were afraid of happened anyway.

Dean scanned his surroundings to make sure that no one was around. Digging a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, he thought of what he'd say to Sam if he were the type to have a heart to heart with a grave. He struck a match to light his cigarette and took a drag.

'You don't approve of this turkey shoot I've got planned, huh? Well, it's happening.'

Tomorrow he was going to restore the balance. That should have been enough. Why wasn't it? He took another drag and exhaled slowly.

'I ain't got no illusions about it either. It's not gonna change a damn thing. I'm well aware.'

While Dean killed Lucifer, his brother's bones would make a home in this yard. It wouldn't fix anything. Sam would still be dead. At the end of the day, Sam would always be dead.

'But I can't let it go. 'Cause as it is... you break my heart, Sam. You break my goddamn heart.'

Whenever he closed his eyes Dean saw Sam and Grace sitting against that tree trunk. He couldn't watch that any longer. Replacing that image with Lucifer's corpse was his only goal. He waited until the flame licked at his fingertips before dropping the cigarette and grinding it out.

'You know what's funny? I don't even know why I didn't kill Gabriel. Maybe I thought that you might have been against it or something. That you'd object. I don't know and I reckon it don't matter now. He's long gone.'

The moon disappeared behind a cloud again and a feather light touch on Dean's arm alerted him to someone's presence. Dean started. A callused hand slipped into Dean's hand.

'I'm scared,' Dean said, feeling the weight of the words settle over him. As usual, his words were met with silence. The difference was that with the moon gone and no stars or light anywhere around them Dean had no idea how Castiel was taking this.

'This time tomorrow we could all be dead,' Dean added, for good measure. Castiel tugged at his hand until Dean half-turned. Hands mapped out his face, sliding across his lips only to be replaced with a mouth. Maybe it was alright to be afraid. Maybe it was how he was supposed to feel.


	9. The hard way

_Author's note: Rating changed to M_

**Chapter Eight: The hard way**

The sun was just starting to make its way down from the highest point in the sky when the first houses appeared on the horizon. Dean tugged at the reins until his horse came to a halt. He fished the rifle out of his saddlebag and thrust it at Castiel.

'You're our best shot. You are up on the roof of the church,' Dean commanded without looking at him. Castiel accepted the weapon and handed it to Jessica. Dean caught his eye with a silent plea, but Castiel didn't respond.

'Hey, I ain't half bad,' Jessica protested, seeming to pick up on some of the tension between the two of them.

'I'll take the rear,' Bobby said. Dean looked them over. They were ready. Dean had never felt less ready. He couldn't do this. Why had he ever thought that he could do this?

'Anyone got something to say? Now's your chance. I'd be much obliged if you spoke up before we go in, 'cause you might not get the chance after,' he joked, managing to keep his voice from quavering.

'I'd like to say something,' Jessica announced. They all – Dean, Castiel, Raphael and Bobby – turned to her expectantly. She cleared her throat.

'There's a word for when you lose your parents, there's a word for when you lose your husband, but there's no word for when you lose your child. Why ain't there? I figure it's because you ain't supposed to outlive your children.'

'I didn't mean to,' Jessica whispered, wiping her eyes.

'Kill him, Dean. Kill him for Sam and for Grace. Kill him,' she concluded with murder in her eyes. Mercy was in small supply that day. They rode on without another word. Bobby went left, circling around the town to approach Lucifer's place from the back. When they came into town, Jessica veered towards the church.

The three men who were left entered the saloon. Gabriel sat at a table with cards in his hands as if he had not a care in the world. It completely threw Dean. It also answered the question of whether Gabriel had been lying about not knowing about the poison. Why else would he be here with Lucifer? Suddenly, Dean was itching for a fight.

Lucifer was mighty amused by their entrance.

'Family reunion?' he inquired, tipping his hat at Castiel and Raphael. Dean ignored that.

'Step outside,' he ordered.

'Yessir,' Lucifer mocked, remaining seated. He shook his head and clacked his tongue as if he was disappointed by the suggestion.

'That would hardly be fair, now would it?'

'I don't give a shit about fair,' Dean snapped. Sam and Grace didn't get fair, he thought. He cast a look around. The saloon was filled with Lucifer's men. A number of them were clearly mercenaries. Dean addressed the lot of them. He talked nice and slow, his eyes assessing each and every one of them. Dodge, Lucifer's right hand man, was grinning.

'I suggest you consider carefully whether this sonofabitch is someone you want to die for, because I'm going to kill him and everyone who stands in my way,' Dean declared.

Everyone remained. Dean shrugged.

'Alright. You motherfuckers are along for the ride.'

'You sure took a hell of a long time to get to it, buddy,' Dodge told Dean, while getting to his feet. He was enormous. He then turned to Lucifer.

'Let me pink him,' he pleaded, nearly chomping at the bit.

'Don't know of no one who will object if you shoot yourself a trespasser,' Lucifer said, casually. The big guy strolled towards Dean until Castiel stepped forward and barred his way. When Dodge saw that Castiel was ready to draw, he smirked. He gestured at his own holstered revolver.

'Only two reasons I ever take that out. Either I'm gonna clean it or I'm gonna kill something with it. So, boy, what's it gonna be?'

Castiel's eyes stayed on Dodge's face. His hand hovered just above his gun. The tension mounted until Dodge seemed to grow tired of waiting and reached for his weapon. He was dead before his hand touched the handle. Dean recoiled at the sight.

Then: pandemonium. Everyone started shooting. Pain knifed down Dean's spine. Time slowed down to a crawl. He got his gun out. The arc of it, from his hip to right in front of him with a stretched arm, took forever. He squeezed the trigger. Blood burst out of Lucifer's right kneecap and he rolled under the nearest table. Dean overturned it with one hand. Shots were still being fired, but far less frequently than a few seconds ago. Groaning, Dean kneeled and steadied his aim by resting his arm on his leg.

'Why?' Dean asked. 'Why kill them? I don't get it.'

'Why not?' the devil countered. Dean stared at him. Lucifer wet his lips. His hand pawed the floorboards for his gun.

'I will...' he began. That was as far as he got before Dean shot him. Calmly, the oldest, _the only_, Winchester brother observed the blood trickling from Lucifer's chest.

'You won't do shit.'


	10. Liquid prayer

**Chapter Nine: Liquid prayer**

When Dean finally turned away from Lucifer, the first thing he saw was Castiel. The feeling that seeing him brought with it drowned out any sound. Dean made his way over to the other man and leaned against him. The pain in his shoulder was searing, but it wasn't that which caused Dean to freeze. A stain was spreading across his abdomen. Dean pulled away and daubed at the front of his shirt. Bright red splotches appeared on his fingers. He frowned.

'But I don't feel anything,' he mumbled. Castiel swayed on his feet. Dean caught him before his head slammed against the bar and managed to ease him onto the floor. Dean wadded up his shirt and pressed it against the mess that was Castiel's gut. Raphael popped up at their side, startling Dean.

'I'm gonna go and get the doctor. Make sure those bodies are corpses, Dean.'

Dean looked up as Raphael stepped outside. He realised that the shooting had ceased entirely. The floor was covered with bodies, bullets and blood. Suddenly, there was movement in his peripheral vision. Gabriel. Dean got off a shot. He heard bottles breaking. Gabriel dove behind the bar.

'I'm unarmed,' he yelled. A pistol slid towards Dean and two hands appeared above the bar. Both hands were empty. One hand was covered with a filthy bandage.

'You're a lying liar who lies!' Dean yelled back. He fired another shot. Gabriel yelped and quickly retracted his hands.

'If it wasn't for me Castiel would be dead right now. Ask him,' Gabriel shouted. Dean looked at Castiel, who nodded.

'Alright. Come here,' Dean said. Hesitantly, Gabriel came out of his hiding place. The urge to simply belt him across the face was strong.

'Hold this,' Dean instructed. Gabriel placed his hands over the soaked shirt and applied pressure. Dean got to work. He checked the bodies. Most of them were either gone or on their way to being gone. The ones who weren't he helped along.

He paused at the door to the back office with his gun at his side. There were more bodies in there. No sign of Bobby. Dean exited through the back and made his way around the building.

'Dean! Jesus, I almost shot you,' Jessica shouted. She was lying on the slanted roof of the church. Rifle at the ready.

Once he'd cleared the other side of the building too, Dean shouted at her to come on down.

'Fight's over!'

Raphael was standing near the entrance of the brothel, looking at a body.

'It's Zachariah.'

'What?'

Raphael, his face contorted with pain, pointed at the body. Zachariah had fallen forward in the sand and been rolled onto his back afterwards.

'He must have followed us. Have you seen Bobby?' Dean inquired. Raphael shook his head. Jess and the doctor appeared. Dean led them all to Castiel.

'What's your name?' Dean asked.

'Leroy,' the doctor answered, taking in the carnage. 'I came to see you when you had that fever a couple of weeks back.'

He looked over Castiel.

'We'd better take him to my surgery. I don't have any of my tools here,' the doctor said, carefully helping Castiel to his feet. He slung one of Castiel's arms over his shoulder. Raphael took the other one. Castiel whispered something. Dean put his ear right next to Castiel's mouth to hear.

'Gracie's cross. What'd it say?' Castiel croaked. Dean remembered how tenderly Castiel had lifted her. Always. Not only her lifeless, little body. To Jessica's dismay, Castiel often used to throw Grace in the air. He'd pick her up as if she was fragile and then let her out of his hands for those few seconds when she flew through the air only to catch her shrieking with joy. Dean swallowed and recited the engraving on the cross. Castiel seemed to approve.

The doctor and Raphael turned towards the door and Dean moved to follow them. Gabriel collapsed. One second he was standing and the next he was on the floor. Undecided, the doctor stood still for a moment.

'Make it quick,' Dean told him. 'Jess, Raphael, take Castiel to the surgery.'

'Where'd you get shot?' the doctor asked, kneeling by Gabriel.

'In my hand,' Gabriel replied, winking at Dean. The doctor started to undo the bandage, releasing an awful smell.

'This is an old wound. When was the last time you changed the bandage?'

'He didn't. That's the one we used when Castiel first shot him,' Dean provided.

'If the infection's got into your blood, you're done for,' the doctor harshly informed Gabriel.

'I'm fine. I just need to rest,' Gabriel protested as the doctor pulled up his sleeve. A pinkish stripe, starting at his wrist wound its way up to his elbow.

'Go attend to Castiel. I'm right behind you. Please fix him,' Dean said. The doctor looked up at Dean with a determined expression on his face.

'I'll do my best.'

The doctor left. Dean grabbed two chairs and helped Gabriel onto one before sitting down himself.

'Guess we killed you after all,' he muttered. Gabriel shrugged.

'Hey, doesn't dying earn you a drink in this joint?'

Dean got up and went behind the bar. He could wait a little longer, but not much. Amongst the sticky shards, he found a whole bottle of whiskey. He rooted around some more until he'd also found two containers. He poured and handed one jar to Gabriel. They drank in silence. Dean thought about the blood that had welled up from Castiel's skin and hoped against hope. I guess this is what praying is like, he thought.

'I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I swore I'd fix this. That I'd set things straight,' Gabriel remarked. Dean gave him a look.

'I don't believe you.'

'Don't matter. Point is: I tried.'

'What do you want me to say? You done right?' Dean snapped.

'Nah. I want you to end my suffering.'

'You're a funny guy.'

Gabriel didn't reply. He grimaced and slumped in his chair. He was obviously in pain.

'Come on, Dean. Like the horse,' he urged. With a sense of satisfaction, Dean realised that Gabriel wanted mercy. You've got the wrong guy, Dean wanted to say. If you check back later, we might have some mercy, but I seriously doubt it, he wanted to say. He was trying not to lose it, but he hadn't known that it would be so damn hard. He had thought that he knew what he was doing. He had been wrong. He didn't know a thing.

The shot resounded throughout town.


	11. Memories of East Texas

**Epilogue: Memories of East Texas**

It was October when Dean rode into another small town, but it felt more like spring. There was a letter waiting for him at the local post office this time. Even though he always dutifully wrote Jessica where she could reach him next, two years had passed since he'd last heard of her.

The envelope was worn smooth. The ink on the back of it had faded to a dull shine. No wonder. Dallas was a long way away. Dean was curious to learn what Jessica had been up to, but waited until returning to the camp to open the letter. Castiel needed the practice.

_About time I wrote, huh? _

_All I can say for myself is that I ain't got a lot of time to sit down and write. I think I'm a housewife. I never felt like a housewife before. It's different with Leroy. Everything here is different. Oh, I'm writing from Anchorage, Alaska. We've moved there. (Address at the bottom) It's kind of funny, you know. Texas always felt so big. _

Dean had posted his last postcard to the ranch as usual. Michael must have sent it along.

_I just wish there wasn't so much snow everywhere most of the time. I find myself yearning for a little dust and heat. I don't think winter is ever going to be a good time again, but maybe that's not such a bad thing. There's moving on and then there's moving on. How are you doing with that, Dean? How's Castiel? _

Dean knew the feeling she described well. Acceptance was a hard thing to come by. Castiel looked up and Dean nodded at him to continue reading.

_I think about Raphael sometimes and it makes my heart ache. I wonder where he is and what he's doing. When Leroy and I followed your example and took with the leaving, Michael was pretty much the same. You know how he was. I don't think this life is long enough for him to realize that it was awful for Raphael too. _

_Poor Raphael. It's a hell of a thing to believe that you killed your own cousin. Poor Zachariah. And poor merciless Michael. Poor us all. The more you love the closer you are to crying, it seems. This is turning out to be a cheerful letter, ain't it?_

_Joyful news: I got a brand new eight month old baby girl. Her name is Kay. We're firmly settled. My belly is already growing heavy again. If it's a boy, we're fixing to call him Bobby. I think that he'd like that._

He would've, Dean thought, flashing back to finally finding Bobby's body.

_We've done alright for ourselves. I got it real easy now. I'm not scared and I'm not worried. That's nice. But I miss them. Leroy says that nothing in our minds is ever really gone. He's right, of course. He often is. It's annoying. He says hello, by the way._

_Tell me, what's the world like? _

Dean didn't know about the world, but he knew about America. Since their shooting days were over, they'd been travelling. The country was big and swathes of it were still unexplored. Some of it was ugly; some of it was pretty as all hell.

_I've been thinking about inviting you. Just thinking, mind you. I'm afraid that I'll take one look at you and see Sam. And you might take one look at me and see Grace. So, maybe I should think about it a little while longer. Do you mind? Will we stay friends? I like to think that you're family. That we're still connected. _

_Well, keep on keeping on, Dean. I hope that you are happy, but that may be too much to ask. I hope that you're at least __alright. Let's meet soon._

_Or let's don't and say we did. (for now)_

_Your old friend,_

_Jess_

Castiel folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. It was time to move on. They travelled light. All that Dean needed slept beside him.

The end.

_Author's note: I had fun writing this. Thanks for reading and extra special thanks to the people who reviewed._


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